


For a Sweet While

by InkingAnonymous



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkingAnonymous/pseuds/InkingAnonymous
Summary: This work is about the relationship between our handsome ADA, Rafael Barba and his girlfriend, Misha Blackwell. Expect to have some aspects of Season 18 addressed before a few flashbacks that will outline how Misha and Rafael met (because I love writing smut!). This is AU, but I will try to align some events so it doesn't feel entirely foreign. *Explicit rating for some chapters*





	1. Meeting Olivia

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to "Sarah" for commenting about seeing the new character interact with other members of the SVU team. This first chapter is rather fluffy and not much happens, but please let me know if I need to fix anything that is a distracting flaw. Also, I'm always open to suggestions for what you would like to see happen- for me, ideas can be painfully absent at times, so inspiration always helps to keep my motivation alive.

Rafael talks about her...a lot. At first, Misha felt a little jealous that so much of his time was shared with her, and that she knew things about Rafael’s day that Misha never would, but the reverence in Raf’s voice when he spoke of Lieutenant Olivia Benson started making his girlfriend smile. Rafael Barba was not afraid of strong women, and in fact, seemed to gravitate toward them. 

Rafael’s commitment to his job didn’t leave a lot of time for sustainable friendships. Having Olivia was important for his mental wellbeing, and Misha almost surprised herself one day when she asked Rafael if she could meet her. 

Misha and Raf were enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon, strolling to a little place on Columbus Avenue for a late lunch, not too far from the Natural History Museum where they had been enjoying one of the new exhibits. Misha had only been in New York City for a little over a year and insisted on experiencing its rich culture any chance that she got. Rafael enjoyed seeing his city through her eyes, and his time exploring with Misha made him realize just how much he loved it there.  
¬  
“If she's everything you said she is, on a good day, she must be an amazing woman. And if she's willing, I'd like to arrange to have Olivia and maybe some of her team members come in to talk to the students.”

Rafael eyed Misha before raising a brow and conceding that her proposal was a great idea. Misha was teaching a relatively new course in the Gender Studies program on “Sex and the City.” Having actual SVU detectives talk to her students about sex work in NYC would be a real eye-opener. 

“Lunch? Tomorrow?” 

“Works for me.” 

Misha smiled, pleased that she didn’t back out of asking. This seemed, for some reason, like an even more intimate step than meeting Rafael’s mother. She and Lucia had much in common since they were both dedicated educators, but Lieutenant Benson was a creature entirely foreign to Misha. 

***  
The next day, Misha took the train to the Chambers Street Station and walked past the park toward Rafael’s office. She was familiar with the restaurant at which they were meeting because she had met Raf there a few times; however, she couldn’t help but feel nervous. She mentally shook her head a few times, chastising herself to get it together. 

Rafael and Olivia were already seated at a table by the window and appeared to be engaged in light conversation. Rafael said something that made Olivia chuckle and Misha was struck by her beauty. This woman was the total package: beauty, brains, and brawn. 

Rafael felt Misha’s presence and made eye contact as he gave her a small wave. He stood as she approached, ever the gentleman, moving to remove her light, black coat. 

Olivia stood as well, and Rafael, with his hand lightly on Misha’s lower back, said, “Olivia Benson, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Misha Blackwell.” 

Olivia and Misha shook hands as Olivia smiled and said, “I've heard so much about you. I was really happy when Rafael asked me to join the two of you for lunch.” 

“I have to echo your sentiment, Olivia, because you are a reoccurring theme in Raf's conversations about work.” 

They both glanced at him and Rafael merely shrugged with a smirk.

Misha rolled her eyes with a smile and took her seat. 

After they had all placed their orders, Misha asked Olivia about her son, knowing that that would be a great place to start the small talk. 

Olivia beamed and talked for a while about Noah. 

“I've always thought that adoption is one of the most selfless acts of humanity. To take in an unwanted child and to love them as your own- I applaud you for that.” 

Oliva appreciated Misha’s kind words and replied, “It was a long road to be able to finally call him mine, but I just knew, from the first moment I looked at his sweet face, that I would give him everything and love him completely.”

“I don't know if Rafael has told you, but I was adopted. My parents love me so completely that I never even wanted to search for my biological parents. I just, never needed it, you know?”

Rafael was a little surprised that Misha was so forthcoming with what he considered to be rather private information. Misha loved her parents and rarely spoke about the fact that she was adopted, seemingly for the aforementioned reasons.

“No, I did not know that, but that's interesting to hear.”

“When the day comes that Noah starts to ask questions, I'd be happy to let you talk to my parents. They read everything, asked every psychologist in the world, the works. I consider them experts on how to not to scar your beloved child by telling them that they are adopted.” 

Liv laughed lightly and after expressing her own worry for doing just that she said, “Thank you. That's a generous offer and I will take you up on that.” 

Rafael spoke up and said, “They really are great people, and of course, Misha serves as a perfect example of evidence to prove-“

“Rafael- Do I have a label on my back that says "Exhibit A?” Misha playfully admonished, “Turn the lawyer off for a hot minute.” 

He frowned a bit and explained to Misha that they recently had a case that called many aspects of the “nature vs nurture debate” into question. He continued, “I really thought it would be the perfect time to show you off to Liv, that’s all.” 

“Show me off, eh? Am I your poster-child for awesome adoption outcomes?” Misha was teasing Rafael because she loved to watch his face puzzle out whether or not she was joking, and his poker-face was even better in front of a third party.

The conversation eventually shifted to more about Misha’s background. Liv already knew that she was an adjunct professor at NYU attempting the path to tenure. She was a few years younger than Rafael, but intelligent and most importantly, level-headed. Rafael never cared for women who behaved like girls. He needed a challenge, someone who knew their own mind, and someone who understood his work ethic. 

When they first met, Misha made it clear to Rafael that she had chosen to dedicate her life to showing students the power of a good education. Most of the men she had dated had nodded in agreement when she explained that her students came first. But those same men turned tail and ran when they realized that she had meant it. She was serious about making a difference in the lives of young people in order to help shape them into the kinds of people who would do good in the world: the kinds of people like Rafael and Olivia. 

Speaking of which, Misha asked Olivia if she had an interest in delivering a casual seminar on the topic of sex workers in the city. Misha was determined to help her students see with truth rather than perpetuated stereotypes. 

Olivia said she would be delighted to speak, so she and Misha exchanged email addresses. 

“Thank you so much, Olivia. I could have ADA Rafael Barba come in and discuss Statute 9A.44B.137 procedures, definitions, and penalties, but I think the NYPD might do a better job of capturing their attention.”

“Are you calling me boring?” Rafael huffed. 

“Not to me!” Misha assured. “You know I love it when you get all lawyerly, but a room full of kids barely old enough to legally drink- forget it. Unless they're law majors. But you of all people know that those kids are so busy with their noses in their books that they rarely get out to experience the real world.”

“I resent that- I went out, occasionally, while I was in school.” 

Olivia smiled as she watched Rafael and Misha lovingly banter. She took a deep breath and sighed, thinking that maybe it was time to seriously look for *that.* 

Misha, with a smile still on her lips from Rafael’s declaration that he of all people had an arguably thriving social life during his Harvard days, shifted her attention back to Olivia. 

“It really is great to meet you.”

Olivia smiled and said, “I'd love to return the favor and have you both over for dinner next week. I'd like you to meet Noah.”

“Oh, I'd love that!” 

The waiter came, and Rafael insisted on paying the check. Olivia said her goodbyes with a promise to meet Barba in his office later that afternoon with more information on a suspect. 

When Olivia had gone, Misha turned to Rafael with her best flat expression and said, “You never once mentioned that Olivia Benson was, oh, say, an eleven on a scale of one to ten.” 

Rafael smirked and met Misha’s eyes with absolutely no shame. 

“Olivia is beautiful, but I only ever see one woman when I close my eyes.” 

Misha held his gaze and waited. And waited. Finally she huffed a little and said, “You're supposed to say ‘and that's you, Meesh.’" 

Rafael laughed. “Wasn't that implied? I mean, I don't want to talk too much and get too technical for fear of boring you-“

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head, but could not stop the soft smile from playing on her lips. “You are ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculously in love with you, yes. I am.” 

“Mmm. Too little, too late, Mr. Barba.” 

Rafael smiled, stood, and slipped on Misha’s coat, pulling her against him as she straightened her collar. With his hands holding her arms so that she was stuck with her hips flush against his, his warm lips moved against her ear, whispering, “It’s you. When I close my eyes, it's always you.” 

Misha thought she was actually going to melt into a puddle at as husky whisper and the firm grasp of his hands on her biceps, but she didn't dare show him that weakness.

Instead, she pushed her ass ever so slightly into his groin, before stepping away. 

“See you at your place, Rafael.” She purred before walking to the door. She knew he loved to watch her walk away, so she didn't even turn to wave goodbye. She could feel his eyes, his desire as she left, and she smiled to herself, thinking of all the delicious ways he would show her what she meant to him. Delicious, naked ways. 

She laughed a little, probably looking a bit like a lunatic, but she didn't care. 

She was in love.


	2. Barba's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !Season 18 spoiler alert! This is basically the episode entitled, "Know It All," in which we learn about Barba's blackmail issue. How does Misha react to the secret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is welcome.

Misha shuts her laptop, satisfied with the feedback from Olivia’s visit to her class. Her department head even stopped in to give her a metaphorical pat on the back and to suggest working with NYPD and its resources to publish an article about the realities of sex workers’ lives in NYC. Something like that could easily boost Misha out of the line of fire as an expendable educator and onto the track for tenure. 

Misha gets up to stretch, her spine popping as she shifts her footing. It’s late, so she is dressed in a comfy, blue tee that splays a UC Santa Barba logo across the chest and a pair of simple white underwear. Growing up in California, Misha didn’t care much for wearing layers. There were times when she longed for her home, to be warm under the sun, stretched out on a beach listening to the ocean’s roar, but she gave that up, along with her tenure at UCSB, to take a risk on a certain brilliant, green-eyed, Cuban American lawyer. Misha didn’t believe in love at first sight, but what she felt when she met Rafael Barba for the first time could only be likened to the “thunderbolt theory” written by Mario Puzo in The Godfather to describe what Michael feels when he sees Apollonia for the first time.

Rafael was Misha’s thunderbolt, so she made some great sacrifices to figure out if she was his. This past year in NYC had been one of the best of her life, so it often felt like she had made the right choice. Still, she wasn’t completely sure of Rafael’s feelings, and a small part of her wondered if she ever would be.

Misha dumps some ice in a glass, adds a healthy shot of Raspberry Stoli, and tops it with some club soda. She likes her drinks bright and crisp like the air on the beach in the early morning when the sky still holds a bright pink promise of things to come.

She takes a long drink, sputtering a little when her phone rings. Everyone she knew usually texted. Phone calls were always serious.

“Hey, Raf. What’s up?” She wastes no time, wondering why he’s calling.

“Can I come over? I need to talk to you about something and it can’t wait until tomorrow.” His voice sounds tired.

“Sure. Do I need to put pants on for this conversation because your voice is indicating that this is going to be a serious, needs pants sort of talk?” Misha nervously fingers the rim of her glass, trying to make Rafael smile while she felt like someone was sliding a knife into her gut.

Rafael exhales with a small laugh which puts Misha slightly at ease. “You decide, but pants or not, I’ll see you soon.”

Misha assumes that Rafael is coming from the office, so she has a little more than 20 minutes to panic. Or drink her face off.

She refills her glass and takes this one more like a shot while she wonders what on earth has Rafael so rattled. 

Misha’s apartment is in Brooklyn because it is much more affordable than living in Manhattan. Thankfully, she had been smart with her money while working at UCSB, and being an only child, she was lucky enough to not have student loans. She thanked her parents so often for that particular gift that her dad eventually banned any phrase that began with, “I really just want you to know how much-“ 

Her parents were wonderful, and at times like this, she really missed them. Misha did not like surprises. She favored expectations and consistency, much of which made her a great teacher. 

Misha’s third drink is again heavy-handed on the vodka, but this time she sips at it. No need to be obliterated when Rafael gets here. She busies herself by pulling out an old decanter given to her by her grandfather. She pours some of Rafael’s scotch into it and adds the matching whiskey glass. Just because she didn’t wear pants at home didn’t mean she didn’t like to be classy. 

Rafael loved her small flavours of snobbery because she was one of the most grounded people he had ever met. He knew these quirks were more about something that she read in a classic novel and wanted to imitate than anything else. She grew up solidly upper middle-class, not wealthy.

By the time she hears Rafael’s keys unclicking the lock and the deadbolt, Misha is on her 4th drink and her 5th lap around the apartment. She had straightened everything that she could straighten, lit some candles because she decided mood lighting may make whatever it was he wanted to talk to her about a little more bearable if it weren’t done by the harsh light of lamps and ceiling fixtures. 

She pours out his scotch and studies his appearance as he shakes his arms out of his coat, turning to hang it on one of the hooks by the door. There are tiny water droplets covering the shoulders of his jacket that fall to the floor as he moves. His hair seems to hold those same droplets as well, making it look just a bit wet, like it did right before he left for the office. He doesn’t make eye contact with her, but the faraway look in them does not escape Misha’s notice, and his lips are drawn in a tight line, an expression she knew was reserved for the courtroom. 

“I didn’t realize it was raining,” Misha states as she hands Rafael a drink. 

He acknowledges the obvious with a small shrug and takes a hard swallow of his drink instead of speaking. Misha gives up on pleasantries and walks toward her sofa in the living room. She sits on one end, giving him the option of deciding how close they sit. She crosses her legs and looks straight, watching the lights of the city flicker in the distance intermixed with the reflected light of her candles. It was never truly dark in NYC, was it?

Rafael doesn’t sit. Instead, he goes to the window and looks out at the night, speaking to it rather than to her.

“I’m in trouble,” he begins, “And I’m not quite sure how to explain it.” 

Misha remains silent, patient. That knife, that stabbing fear that was sliding into her gut earlier, is now firmly lodged, cold and sharp. 

“A man, a suspect in a case actually, blackmailed some members of the NYPD, and it seems that I haven’t gone unnoticed. I told you that I had transferred from Brooklyn to Manhattan a few years ago, but I never really said why I transferred. Most people assume it was a political move, and I don’t bother to correct them.”

Misha sits, glass clutched in her hand. Her demeanor is stoic, but her mind is screaming, Oh god- what the fuck is the reason?!

Rafael turns to her, his green eyes reflecting the soft light of the candles on the coffee table, and Misha searches his face. She cannot tell what is hidden in his features, fear? Sadness? Relief? He tips the rest of his scotch into his mouth and swallows. “I told Olivia everything this afternoon. She’s too damn good at her job, sometimes.”

Rafael continues as he moves toward the sofa, setting his glass down on the table. He doesn’t sit on the sofa beside her, rather he takes the accent chair across from Misha. He sits, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees. He is still in his suit from work, minus the jacket because he had rolled up the sleeves of his plaid dress shirt. The top few buttons are undone and his tie had been loosened. She watches his tie dangle as he seems uncertain what to do with his hands. 

“Let me refresh your drink,” Misha says as she rises and picks up his glass from the table.

He thanks her and seems grateful that he finally has something to do with his hands now. He holds the glass between his hands, arms still resting on his thighs, and takes a breath, “Not all secrets are shameful,” he states. “I want to make it clear that I would do this all over again if it meant getting that same conviction.”

“Just tell me what happened, please.” Misha says with a firm lilt to her voice.

Rafael licks his lips and recounts the story that he had told for the first time in years for the second time that day.

“I was trying a guy who had raped and killed two women. My only witness was a heroin addict. The day of the trial she showed up so strung out she could barely talk. The judge would not give her a recess so when she asked for a loan, I gave it to her. I knew what she would do with that money, and she bought what she bought and did what she did. She got on the stand and buried the guy. 8 hours later, after sending that mal hombre to prison for the rest of his life, she died of an overdose.”

He pauses to take a drink, and Misha says, “But that’s not the worst of it, I’m guessing.”

Rafael looks at her, unsure whether or not Misha is judging him. 

“Mariana, my witness, left behind her 10-year-old daughter, Ashtonja. She lives with her grandmother, and they are poor, so I help out- I’ve been helping out for years. The suspect in Liv’s case hacked my bank account and tracked down Ashtonja. Once he saw her and how old she was, he came to the conclusion that I was paying her for sex.”

Rafael finishes the last of his drink and sits back in his chair, exhausted. The story is out, and it was up to Misha to decide how she felt about it. He kept looking from his empty glass to her face to see if he could read her expression. She finally looks up, her blue eyes colored gray in the dim lighting. They hold one another’s gaze for a few seconds before she speaks.

“I love you. This doesn’t change that.” Misha’s voice echoed with the relief that she felt and saw mirrored in her boyfriend’s eyes. “I have, maybe 100 questions or so, but right now, I want to know what you need. What are you thinking?” 

Rafael sighs, “I don’t know. I feel all over the place. I love my job- you know that, but if the DA wants me out, I’m not entirely sure that I would be devastated. This job takes a toll, and I’ve made enough connections to land on my feet.”

“But you’re not ready to give up this life, are you?”

“No. And definitely not like this. I worry about my past cases being called into question and all of my work being undone. Of justice being undone because I couldn’t let one guy walk. I sometimes wonder how much of my own arrogance is what drives me-“

Misha cut him off. “Stop. Yes, you are confident, and yes, that confidence sometimes harbors arrogance, but if this were about simple human pride, you would not have returned to that little girl, year after year, and tried to make amends. That speaks volumes about you, Rafael. Monsters don’t make amends.”

Rafael looks at her with sparkling eyes. “Mi amor.”

Misha gets up and stands in front of his chair, reaching down to slide her fingers through his thick hair. He closes his eyes and sighs under her affectionate touch. She moves between his legs and sits on his lap, partially supporting her own weight with her feet planted on the floor. She keeps her hand on the back of his head, and he smiles up at her. “Are you going to tell me everything will be okay?”

“Of course not. Life is only sweet for short whiles. That’s how we know when we have, or that we have had something worthwhile. But I will be here for you no matter what’s in the next chapter of your life- our life.”

Rafael pulls Misha into his chest, relishing in her sweet words and her warmth. 

“One question for tonight- what happens next? As in the immediate future?”

“I meet with the DA in the morning. I’ve already told him everything,” Rafael mumbles into her hair. 

“And so we wait.”

“So we wait.”

It didn’t escape her notice that Rafael’s soft, long fingers were tracing circles on her thigh. And now, there were warm lips pressing against the soft spot where her clavicles met. 

“Is this how you want to wait?” Misha asks, her neck lolling to the side to give him access to more bare skin. 

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want, lover. Tell me,” Misha whispers as Rafael’s tongue now echoes his fingers by tracing circles along her neck. 

Rafael stops his movements and wraps his fingers around her chin, pulling her face down so that their eyes meet. His eyes are full of longing and something that Misha thinks is akin to desperation. What she knew, though, was that he needed her- her body, her strength, her resolve. All things that she would give him without a moment’s hesitation.

“Love me,” he whispers.

Misha’s eyes never leave his as she maneuvers to straddle his hips, just barely able to tuck her legs in at his sides on the small chair. 

She kisses him, chastely, on the lips, and then traces a path of slow, soft kisses from the corner of his mouth to his lightly shut eye. She repeats the process, but in reverse as she kisses across his brow to his other closed eye, then back to his mouth. 

He is pliant under her kisses and the stress of the past day melts away as Rafael allows himself to be submerged in her presence. She continues to kiss his face, relishing in its absolute perfection, enjoying that there seems to be nothing frenzied about their coupling. She is in complete control and that is exactly what he needs.

She loosens his tie and pulls it off, letting it drop to the floor. She returns to kissing his mouth, this time with passion, as she unbuttons his dress shirt. She tries to push it off of his shoulders, but they both realize that their chair is not going to allow for much movement. 

Misha and Rafael laugh as Misha rests her forehead against his and sighs.

“Bed,” Misha states through a smile. 

She backs off of Rafael’s lap and holds her hand out for him to take. She leads him down the short hallway to her room, also dimly lit, but this light comes from the tiny fairy lights Misha had nestled into the walls where they meet the ceiling. She had her bedroom decorated in whites and blues and tried her best to recreate the feel of her beach home here in Brooklyn. Her windows are draped with light curtains that fluttered with any movement of air, so sometimes, she could lay in bed with the fan on, close her eyes, and imagine the sounds of the ocean as she fell asleep.

“Do not move. I will be right back.”

Rafael did as instructed and lay on the bed with his hands behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles. He smiled to himself, knowing that Misha was returning to the kitchen and the living room to extinguish all of the candles and make sure that they were locked in tight. Her practicality was one of the things that he liked the most about her. 

Misha returns, having discarded her t-shirt. She approaches the bed and Rafael admires the slight bounce of her full breasts and her absolute lack of self-consciousness in his presence. She was every bit a woman and the fact that she wasn’t afraid to show him that turned him on. 

“I believe we were right about here,” Misha states as she straddles Rafael and pulls him into a sitting position so she can finally discard his dress shirt. 

She takes a minute to run her hands over the thin fabric of his undershirt before pushing him back on the bed. She runs her finger along the top of his trousers and slowly undoes his belt, pulling the irksome piece of leather off of his waist with a flourish that makes Rafael grin. 

Misha quirks her eyebrow and pops the button on his pants. She moves again, this time to his feet to pull off each dress sock. Rafael begins to wonder exactly what her process is this evening, when he sucks in a breath as she returns to the growing bulge in his trousers and takes his zipper between her teeth. Slowly, oh so slowly, she slides down the zipper. 

Rafael reaches for her hair to slide it over a shoulder so he can watch her, but she catches his hands and guides them above his head, pushing them back against the headboard. 

“Relax, Barba,” she purrs. “You can touch in a little while.”

Rafael obeys, shuddering a bit at her use of his last name, knowing that she is toying with him. 

Misha pushes up his undershirt, just a bit to expose the taught skin across his hips and his abdomen. She kisses across the exposed flesh, taking time to run her tongue across the tiny dip where each of his hipbones lay.

She wastes little time by shedding his pants and boxer-briefs in one quick tug, tossing the garments onto the floor. She’s at his feet again, and this time she runs her hands lightly over each, watching him squirm a little as she tickles. 

She giggles at the noise he makes as he tries not to laugh, and she takes mercy on him and moves up his calves, rubbing her fingers through the coarse hair on his legs, biting her lip as it gets softer as she makes her way up his thighs. 

Misha continues her light touches, but leans just right over his cock so that her breasts slide up either side. Rafael is watching her, desire evident, as she travels further up his body. Finally, she rids him of the undershirt, holding it taught over his eyes as she kisses him deeply, before finally pulling it off and dropping it to the floor with his other clothes. 

“Meesh…you’re killing me tonight.”

“No, Rafi, I’m loving you. It’s a time-honored tradition that love and death feel like one in the same.”

And in one swift movement, Misha’s wet heat encompasses Rafael’s cock. She caught him off-guard, and for a small second, he believes that he may have just died. The delicious, half-human noise that escapes from his lips serves as Misha’s prize and Rafael’s confirmation that his heart is still beating. 

He is clutching at the pillows around his head and spreading his legs a little to get a better angle. Misha is still, teasing him with her lack of movement. She squeezes around him with her inner muscles before quickly pulling away from his cock.  
Rafael groans at the loss of contact, but is quieted as she reverses her position turning away from him to ride him backwards. She angles her body over his and slides, slowly this time, back onto his cock.  
Her hair hangs in his face and he breathes in her scent. She whispers, “Touch me.”

Rafael immediately reaches around for her breasts and squeezes them, peaking the nipples in tandem with her slow thrusts. From this angle, he can uninhibitedly run his hands over her smooth stomach and reach between her thighs to finger her clit. 

They keep their slow pace until Misha feels her orgasm burning on the edge of release. She pushes Rafael’s hand away and slides off of him once more. 

Again, she turns around, so that she is back to facing him. 

“Sit up,” she breathes in a clipped command. 

Rafael moves to a sitting position so his back is flush against her padded headboard. Misha crawls into his lap, quickly sliding onto his slick, hard cock. She repeats her process from earlier, stilling as soon as he is fully inside of her. 

“I love you, Rafael,” she states while locking her eyes to his. 

Rafael pulls her closer to him, squeezing his sweat slicked body against hers, nuzzling into her shoulder and kissing her hot skin. She grabs the back of his hair and bares his neck to her lips and tongue. She begins moving on him, sliding up and down, her thighs quivering from an ache to orgasm. 

Their kisses are open mouthed, all tongue and nipped lips. Their bodies burn, and their movements expedite, becoming almost feral as they grind together. She feels an intense desire to stop time, to live in this moment of the crest of a climax forever. Nothing can hurt them here.

But like all things in life, it can only be that sweet for a while. 

They come, together, both of them moaning and grunting their appreciation at the anomaly of an orgasm in such perfect tandem. 

They stay like that for a bit longer than usual, breathing, listening to each other’s heartbeats. Misha eventually moves because her thighs are protesting against their constriction and she sighs as she rolls to her side of the bed. 

Rafael slides down and turns to face her, their hands meeting to lock together. His eyes are drooping, and it’s almost unbelievable to him that he could be tired enough to sleep, not knowing his fate in the morning. 

Misha quietly says, “And so. . . we wait.”

Rafael smiles sleepily at her, his blinks growing longer as sleep insists on taking him. “Thank you for loving me.”

“Always.”


	3. Change is Never Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael heads off to the DA to face his fate, leaving Misha alone to worry about their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect the next updates to contain a series of flashbacks. I need to wait out Season 18 to see what actually happens to keep things a little bit canon. As always, feedback is welcome.

Misha stirs at the beeping of Rafael’s alarm. He wants nothing more than to shut the noise off and wrap his body around hers, but he gets up and heads to the shower.

He lets the hot water wash over his body, and by focusing on the sensation, he is able to not think about his impending meeting for a few more minutes.

He hears the door open and Misha mumbles, “Morning” as she brushes her teeth. He smiles into the stream of water as he rinses his face, knowing she is not a morning person.

Rafael finishes up in the bathroom and heads to the kitchen, yellow towel wrapped around his waist, knowing that she has coffee percolating. She favors the flavored kind, so the kitchen is filled with the classic smell of coffee mixed with the sweet scent of vanilla.

Misha is sitting on an island stool, checking her email. Rafael walks around to stand behind her, moving her hair to one side to place a sweet kiss on her neck.

“Ready to put a ‘Good’ in front of that morning?”

“Mornings are evil. Especially without coffee.”

Rafael laughs softly and nods his head in agreement. He heads to the cupboard and takes down two mugs, then pours them each a cup. Misha shuts her laptop and accepts the proffered cup.

“Thanks.” 

Rafael relishes in the taste of the hot coffee, the first true signal that his day has begun. 

“No more waiting,” Misha states from over her cup. “How do you feel?” 

Rafael sighs, furrowing his brows. “Would it be terrible if I said relieved? I’ve lived with this for so long, and always with a fear that someone would find out and use it against me. In a few hours, I’ll know my fate.”

Misha nods in agreement and continues to sip her coffee. Her mind swirls with the possibilities of his fate. The only real certainty in life is that change is inevitable. She doesn’t handle change so well and she fears that this meeting will forever alter the Rafael that she has fallen in love with. She wants to verbalize her thoughts, but refuses. He doesn’t need to know that she’s a mess with worry for him. Like Rafael said, not all things done in the dark are shameful. When you love someone, you protect them, especially when it is within your power to do so.

Rafael rinses his cup in the sink before walking back to Misha’s closet. Misha and Rafael had graduated to keeping some belongings at each of their places a few months ago. Rafael begins assembling his suit, choosing a black three-piece with a light blue dress shirt. Nothing snappy, today.

Misha leans in the doorway of the walk-in closet and watches as Rafael drops his towel. She hums in appreciation and he looks over his shoulder as he slides on his underwear. Misha moves to him and slides her hands up his back and kisses across his shoulders.

Rafael stills and closes his eyes. “Are you trying to make me late?”

Misha doesn’t answer and instead turns Rafael’s body and pushes him against the closet wall. Her movements are the opposite of last night’s. She touches him everywhere, lingering in no particular place. There’s nothing slow or deliberate about this morning- she wants him, one more time, before everything changes.

Misha licks across his lips and he opens his mouth to allow her to deepen the kiss. Rafael enjoys the sensation of her smoothness in front of him mixed with the cold of the hard wall. He’s lost in her ministrations and groans as she drops to her knees and takes him in her mouth.

She doesn’t pleasure him for long, before rising from her knees, sliding her body up his as she stands.

“Fuck me. Now, before you go.”

Rafael gives her a hard look before grabbing her arms and switching their places. He pushes her against the wall and slides his hand inside of her panties. She’s so wet, and Rafael moves his fingers expertly, bringing her to a quick and hard orgasm. She chants to a nameless god and her Rafael as she comes and he wastes no time in reaching under her ass to lift her, angling his cock as he pushes aside her underwear. He enters her and fucks her hard against the wall, burying his face in her neck and growling her name as he comes.

As he releases his grip on Misha, she tucks him back into his underwear and kisses him lightly on the lips.

“I’m sorry. I panicked a bit. I just wanted one more time with you before-”

“Before things change. I get it. And if I could freeze time, here with you, I would.”

“Would you?” she questions, not only with her words, but with her eyes.

“I guess we haven’t talked a lot about the future- our future- have we? That’s my fault.”

“I haven’t pushed the issue either because I’ve been so happy. You know, next month, we will have been together for a year.”

Rafael grinned, mischievously. “I am aware of that.”

Misha quirked her brow, “Oh, really? Anything I need to know?”

Rafael took a deep breath and said, “Possibly, but this meeting could…change thigs.”

Misha wrapped her arms around Rafael and hugged him tight.

“Thank you for accommodating my mild crazy this morning.” Misha leaned back and looked at Rafael’s face, “And thank you for letting me in.”

“No secrets, mi amor. You have no idea how good it feels to be free of it. Consequences be damned now that I know I’ll have you in my corner.”

“Always,” she says and smiles before releasing him to get dressed.

* * *

Misha closes the door behind Rafael, saying a silent prayer to any powers that be. His words intrigue her and she wonders what he’s been thinking in regards to their one-year anniversary. Misha didn’t have any classes today and weighed her level of motivation as she eyed her laptop.

 _Nope,_ she thought to herself. _All I’m good for today is a hot shower and some good old fashioned over-thinking_.

Misha showered, relishing in the warmth just like Rafael had done an hour earlier. She couldn’t help but think about how she met him and how her first impression of him had shaken her, just like a hit from a thunderbolt.             


	4. I Know a Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re going to fight this, Misha.” Brett stood and walked to the deck’s rail. He placed his palms on the rail and leaned forward. “I have a former student who works for the DA in Manhattan. We’ve kept in touch, and I’ve followed his career. He works closely with the Special Victims Unit, and he’s won some rather difficult cases through some rather unconventional methods. I’d like to ask him to come out as a consult.”  
> “So, he could help us build a case?”  
> “A rock-solid case.”  
> Misha joined Brett at the rail. “Call him tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter mentions rape, so WARNING!  
> I used a fake sorority name from an episode of Saved by the Bell just to be cautious. As always, feedback is welcome!

Her shadow stretched before her, taunting her, as Misha pushed through the last of her morning run. The cool sand cupped against her bare feet while pink, purple, and yellow waves inched closer with each new second of the coming dawn. It was a perfect morning with a perfect California sunrise, except Misha didn't have time to soak in the beauty of the day. She had an 8am class to teach and her day wouldn't end until she met with a list of students who had emailed, frantic over her feedback on their first essay assignment. _Freshman_.

Jogging up the front stairs to her house, she collapsed onto a deck chair, reaching for the hose to rinse off the sand. She also splashed some cold water on her sweat streaked face, the heat of the day already edging up despite the early hour.

Deciding on a black maxi skirt and a light blue cami layered under a dark blue tank top, Misha grabbed her favorite khaki-colored bolero jacket, along with her bag and headed out the door. Campus was about a half an hour’s drive from Misha’s. Once she reached UCSB, Misha headed straight to class to start the day. It wasn’t until that afternoon that anything out of the ordinary occurred. Misha was in her office, answering emails when there was a light knock on her open door’s frame.

“Hi, Brooke, come on in.”

Brooke was a bright, first- year student. She had beautiful, long black hair, but it was currently piled into a messy bun on her head. There were purple circles under her eyes and they were a little puffy, as if Brooke had spent a long time crying.

Misha shut her laptop and watched as Brooke took a seat in one of the worn, semi-antique arm chairs in front of her desk.

“What’s on your mind?” Misha asked, gently.

Brooke looked at her hands as the fiddled in her lap. She seemed uncertain, exactly the opposite of the confident student Misha had come to know. Brooke was a perfectionist and often met with Misha to discuss her assignments and the direction in which she wanted to take for her studies. Brooke wanted to be a writer, maybe a journalist, so Misha encouraged Brooke to get involved with the school’s Young Writers’ club. It gave her a safe place to share her work and build her confidence over the past semester. It pained Misha to see Brook looking so dispirited.

“Some- something happened two nights ago,” Brooke began. “I went to a Kappa Theta party with a few of my friends. I-I-I don’t really remember drinking.”

“Take your time, Brooke,” Misha said as she moved from behind her desk to take the other arm chair. She angled her body toward Brooke’s and scooted a box of tissues to the edge of her desk. Brooke reached for one, and continued her story.

“What I do remember is waking up and this guy- this guy was on top of me. He-,” Brooke dabbed at her already puffy eyes. “My clothes were off and he was inside of me. I tried to say no. I tried to push him away, but I passed out again.”

Brooke was silent for a few minutes and Misha sat patiently, watching her face. Brooke looked up suddenly, with conviction.

“I know I did not consent to what he did to me. When I woke up in the morning, I was dressed, sloppily. My shirt was inside out. My underwear were gone, and I was sore. I was alone in a strange bed.”

“What happened next?”

“I couldn’t find my purse, so I went back to my dorm. I thought maybe Marie could tell me what happened-or tell me why they left me there, but she wasn’t there either. Then I went to the hospital and asked for a rape kit.”

“That was smart, Brooke. I’m proud of you, but I wish you didn’t have to do that alone.”

“I’ve heard the rumors. Campus Security tries to get girls to keep it ‘in-house.’” Brooke had stopped dabbing at her eyes and she looked determined.

“Interestingly enough, I was still visited by an officer from Campus Security.”

Misha’s brows furrowed and she bit her lip to stop from cursing. “What did they say?”

“ _She,”_ spat Brooke, “said that I made a mistake by involving the local authorities and that they had handed the case of ‘Drunk girl gets laid, has regrets’ back to the campus. She told me that it would be best if I forgot my visit to the hospital just the same as I ‘conveniently’ forgot my night of ‘consensual rough sex.’” Brooke emphasized the words that security officer used.

Misha let out a shaky breath and slowly asked Brooke if she knew who did this to her.

“My purse showed up by the time I returned from the hospital.”

“That means he was in your dorm?”

“Or that he had my roommate return my bag.”

“Do you remember who raped you?”

“It was Jace Howell.”

 

_It wasn’t the first time that Misha had heard that name. About a month ago, a female student reported Jace Howell to campus security. Misha had overheard the fraternity advisor for Kappa Theta laughing about how young girls get in over their heads with their newfound freedom and like to point blame at the most promising of young men._

_"To what purpose?” Misha had barked at him._

_“Excuse me?”_

_“What exactly would be the purpose of targeting ‘promising young men?’ Maybe you need to keep a better watch on your students, Dr. Sanifisky._

_“Take your feminist shit somewhere else, Blackwell. Actually, stick to your saccharine, woe-is-me literature. The rest of us have actual knowledge to impart on today’s youth.”_

_“It sounds like you and your house could use a little lesson in the humanities, Sanifisky.” Dr. Brett Marshall spoke up on Misha’s behalf, and as a former Harvard professor of law, his clout was enough to cause Sanifisky to turn on his heel and storm away._

_Brett was in his early sixties and had decided that he had enough of teaching law on the east coast and was ready to return to his home. As a born and bred Californian, it took his family by surprise when he said he wanted to dedicate his life to law and that the best place to do it was on the east coast. However, after he had lost his wife, he said that the east felt haunted to him. He moved home to California, and pursued his second passion, Japanese. Soon, he was an adjunct professor at UCSB, and was well-respected among his colleagues for his intellect and his compassion. He often said that he became a professor of law because it had gotten scarily easy to turn off his emotions in the courtroom just to win a case. Passion, he often said, was what separates the great attorneys from the mediocre.  
_

_I love you, Brett, but I do not need you to fight my battles against the likes of Sanifisky,” Misha scolded her friend._

_I know, but I really don't like that guy.”_

 

And that dislike came rushing to the surface as Misha listened to Brooke’s story.

“Brooke, I need you to know that I am glad you confided in me. I believe you, and I want to help you.”

Brooke couldn’t help the fat tears that slid down her cheeks. She reached out, tentatively, and took Misha’s hand. Misha returned the gesture by placing her other hand on top of Brooke’s.

“I will be with you every step of the way, no matter what you decide. But I need to know, Brooke. Do you want to pursue this?”

Brooke hesitated, only a moment, before firmly nodding her head and saying, “Yes.”

“Campus security, I think, was trying to silence you. The police are professionals. They don’t pass criminal reports back to campus security. Did you speak to an officer while at the hospital?”

“Yes. I told them everything I remembered, but it wasn’t much at the time. I didn’t realize that it was Jace until this morning.”

“That’s not unusual, especially if you were drugged. Did the hospital run a tox screen?”

“I-I think so.”

“Okay. We need to follow up with the police. Do you remember the name of the officer you spoke with?”

Brooke reached into her back pocket and pulled out a card with a detective’s name. “There’s a problem, though.”

Misha raised her brow.

“Jace is dating my roommate, Marie. That’s, umm, that’s how I remembered that it was him. She has this old sweatshirt of his. I moved it off of my desk chair and I caught the scent. It was him- I remembered his cologne and then it all came rushing back. I saw his face so clearly.” Brooke’s eyes welled with tears that threatened to spill as her lip trembled.

“It’s okay to cry, Brooke. I’m here for you.”

Brooke wiped her tears away, angrily. “Thank you. I hate that he- that he did this to me.”

“He will not get away with it,” Misha said with resolve. “But there is something that I want to ask your permission for.”

Brooke nodded.

“I would like to consult with Dr. Marshall. We’ve been aware that there have been issues with reported rapes that have been swept under the rug and he used to teach law at Harvard. One of his specialties was sex-crime prosecution. If anyone knows exactly how to make Jace answer for this, it’s him. But only if you’re comfortable-“

“I trust you, Dr. Blackwell. That’s why I came to you.”

Misha smiled, “Thank you, Brooke. We will get justice.”

Brooke returned Misha’s smile and thanked her again. Misha told Brooke to lay low and not return to her dorm alone. She would meet her after her class and they would go together to pack Brooke’s bag.

*  *  *  *  *

When Brooke left her office, Misha called Brett and asked him to come over for a late dinner. She said she had something important to discuss, but wanted to do it in person.

After Misha dropped Brooke off at her sister’s, she stopped at her favorite Italian place and picked up two dinners. That was about as close to cooking as Misha got. Brett, ever the gentleman, brought a bottle of wine which Misha immediately opened.

Brett smiled and raised his glass, “Kanpai!”

Misha smiled over her glass, “Kanpai.” She took a long drink of the sweet wine, silently thanking the powers that be for dropping this man into her life. Misha preferred her friendships few and intimate, and she and Brett just clicked. He was still grieving for his wife and Misha was able to help him find some solace. They dined together often, valuing each other’s intellect. It didn’t hurt that Brett was also a good-looking man. He reminded Misha a little of Ed Harris, actually.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

“Dinner on the deck?” Misha deflected.

“That bad, huh?”

Misha smirked, “You know me too well. I’m afraid that neither of us will have an appetite once the subject is broached.”

“Fair enough,” Brett acquiesced and helped Misha carry the dishes out to the deck.

There was a light breeze, just enough to break the heat and carry the scent of the ocean. The sky was darkening with just a hint of plum and pink left in the distance. Misha had lit the tiki torches around her deck and the tiny fires cast a soft glow. Misha and Brett engaged in companionable chatter as they ate and sipped their wine. Once the dishes were cleared and their glasses refreshed, Misha took a deep breath and recounted Brooke’s story.

Brett listened, his eyes trained on the rhythmic slap of the waves.

“Brooke wants to pursue this. She deserves justice.”

“She’s not the only one,” Brett said through clenched teeth. “Howell has done this at least twice before.”

Misha leaned forward in her chair, “What happened?”

“Last semester, there was a student named Amanda. Amanda’s story mirrors Brooke’s except that Amanda withdrew not long after the incident. She was a promising student, Misha. Something didn’t feel right. When I looked into it further, I discovered that she left with a tuition credit.”

Brett turned and faced Misha, “There were only two weeks left in the semester. When have you ever heard of a university giving a tuition credit to a student who willingly leaves campus with two weeks left in their semester?”

“A bribe,” Misha breathed. “This is worse than I thought.”

“I’ve started building a case, but no one has been willing to come forward. Or, they’ve left campus like Amanda.”

“What are we going to do, Brett?”

“We’re going to fight this, Misha.” Brett stood and walked to the deck’s rail. He placed his palms on the rail and leaned forward. “I have a former student who works for the DA in Manhattan. We’ve kept in touch, and I’ve followed his career. He works closely with the Special Victims Unit, and he’s won some rather difficult cases through some rather unconventional methods. I’d like to ask him to come out as a consult.”

“So, he could help us build a case?”

“A rock-solid case.”

Misha joined Brett at the rail. “Call him tonight.”


End file.
